Wish That You Were Here
by lindsayandhalstead
Summary: As determined Erin was, to not be looking back, there are some things you can't ever really leave in the past. And your soulmate is one of them. One-shot. Linstead. Post Season 4.


**A/N: *sings in a weepy voice to the CPD season 4* and I will try… to fix you. *instrumental solo***

 **I know I've been MIA for a while with fics, but I've been working on this for a while. It's my way of making it better after the finale. It's also basically me bleeding my heart over my keyboard.**

 **Thanks to my friends Alejandra, Sherri and Tracey for their help with this. ILY all so much.**

 **The fic was inspired by the song Wish That You Were Here by Florence + The Machine (I'm obsessed, go listen to it rn if you haven't).**

 **After this ridiculously long AN, let's get on to business. This is 10k, so the feedback better be long too 😛**

* * *

She misses him with a force that could set this world on fire. The homesick feeling that hasn't left her chest since she crossed the border of Chicago without saying goodbye has set down on her chest with an asphyxiating weight.

It's not Chicago she's homesick for, though she misses the familiar night skyline of the city; she misses standing next to the water thinking about it as _her_ city. It's not the unit she's worked so hard to belong into, though she misses the guys and their endless banter, and the drive with which they solve cases. She misses the sense of a family—belonging. It's not even Hank, who's always been the only real family she's ever known—him and Camille and Justin—though she sure misses the way he'd look at her affectionately and say something that would sound strict, but she'd know that deep down he's a big old softie.

It's none of those things that makes her stomach churn with the feeling of longing. It's the softness of _his_ chuckle, and the warmth of _his_ embrace, and the feeling of losing herself in the depths of _his_ ocean-blue eyes. It's the feeling she gets whenever he's around, of being safe. As if his presence in the room means everything malicious in the world can't reach her.

Her sweaty palm grips her phone harder. She's successfully managed to not look back in the few weeks that she has spent in the new city, or that's at least what she's been fooling herself into believing. The truth is, she is looking back. And it's not a quick glance every now and then. It's looking deep and hard into the past—even into the future they could have had together. The future she wants so much it hurts to breathe when she thinks about it, because he was (is) the one person she wants it all with. The one person that makes her fantasize about walking towards him in a white dress, so she can promise to love him forever. Because she will anyway. Whether that ever happens or not.

It's not that she hasn't tried to erase all the memories, the good, the bad. But she wakes up every night, craving his warm body to snuggle into. The pillows she got used to when she was sleeping alone are no longer enough. It's funny, she thinks, how there was a time when she was so used to being alone. A time when she didn't mind being on her own. A time when she didn't want anything. Until she fell for him. Then she started wishing for everything.

Now more than anything, she wishes he was there with her, or even better yet that she could go home, to be where he is. To lay her head on his shoulder and whisper she's sorry, like she already told him in that phone-conversation from hell, when he told her he's waiting for her at the apartment, and she told him she's on her way to the airport.

He deserved so much better. But the thought of goodbye nearly made her heart explode with sorrow. It wasn't something she was capable of at that moment, or something she thinks she will ever be capable of. So, that's what she told him while tears made their silent way down her cheeks and the taxi driver pretended not to notice how she was trying to keep her voice normal, but she wept loudly as soon as getting off the phone, while cradling the little device, as if it were somehow supposed to take her back to him.

She would have taken one look at him and cancelled everything, launching herself into his arms and found comfort in him like she has so many times before. And he would have offered his arms, and his shoulder to cry on, and reassuring words, like he always does. She never would have found the courage to leave.

But it's better this way. He's better off without her.

She thinks she's said she's sorry a thousand times, and yet it never seems enough (and it's not). But Jay is Jay—eternally forgiving and endlessly understanding. So as determined Erin was, to not be looking back, there are some things you can't ever really leave in the past.

And your soulmate is one of them.

* * *

He doesn't know how he makes it through the night. The absence of her things in the apartment when he arrives makes him panic at first. But there are no signs of struggle, and he knows her enough to know she wouldn't go down without a fight.

That's when the realization sets in, and he doesn't know what's worse, the first idea, or the idea that's just settling in, pressing down on his chest with the weight he doesn't know he can carry. The phone shakes in his hand as he speed-dials her, and the seconds it takes for her to answer are the longest in his life. He prays for her to pick up the phone, apologizing to God for being out of touch, but if he can just do him this one solid favour, he'll go to church on Sunday.

"Erin." The sound of the call being taken is everything he gets. The silence on the other end is deafening. "I'm at the apartment. Come back. Come home."

"Jay, I—" Her voice is breaking before she can get the rest of the words out. But even then he's able to fill out the blank. _I can't._ Even saying his name, the way she did, is enough for that.

He wants to plead and beg and blackmail her into coming back, because he knows if he can just see her, he can make her stay. But he's not sure anymore, that he should. No matter how hard she's tried, she hasn't been able to leave the trouble behind in this city, not even with him by her side. So maybe the best thing to do if he loves her, is to let her go.

"It's okay," he manages through the tears. "You do what you gotta do." It's what he wants to say, so he can later remember taking the high road. So that if they need to part ways, they do it so that neither of them resents the other, or hates the other. "I love you."

He hears her voice shake on the other end. "I'm sorry." She repeats it like it's going to magically make everything okay. But he knows it won't. He knows it'll only lessen her pain, but not his. And selflessly enough he lets her. Because the last thing he wants is to cause her more pain.

"Call me when you get settled."

"I will."

He knows she won't. He can almost hear the promise being broken as soon as she speaks, but for the sake of pretences, he does exactly that. He pretends to believe, and as she hangs up the phone, he lets the tears fall.

He crumbles into their bed, waiting for the sleep that doesn't come, because he's drowning in memories of her, of the little things. Because there is a more pressing question in his head about whether he will ever see her again.

If it will ever stop hurting.

Sadly, he already knows the answer to that.

* * *

It starts with one phone call that she promised him. She had no intention of calling when she made the promise, but it does not leave her mind alone. It haunts her, itches, until after a few weeks, when she eyes a bottle of bourbon that's sitting on her counter for the sixth time, tempted to make the sleep come the easy way. That's when she finally picks up the phone, equally excited and terrified to hear his voice on the other side, but knowing that this is the less toxic of two options, and she can almost hear his voice telling her not to drown her sorrows in alcohol. Again.

It's as awkward as she expects, both of them stumbling around in this unknown area of not being lovers, of not being partners, of not even really being friends. And she doesn't know which one of these realizations she loathes the most. It seems to be the latter, because she decides during that call, that whatever happens between them, she's not losing his friendship. She can't.

So the one call becomes texts, just short things to check in from time to time.

* * *

 **J: Tony is back! Now we just gotta get you and Mouse back, and it'll be a full house again. :P**

 **E: That's great! Tell him I said hi. Errrr, maybe one day?**

 **J: Oh, definitely** **;)**

* * *

 **J: You owe me fifty bucks, lady. Ruzek and Burgess just got back together.**

 **E: They've been hooking up since he got back from UC. I'll let you keep your fifty** **;)**

 **J: Damn. You are the better detective.**

 **E: I just cornered her in the locker room and bullied her into telling me. But I'll take the compliment.**

 **J: I take it back.**

 **E: Can't. I already claimed it.**

 **J: I'm still taking it back.**

 **E: *pouts***

 **J: Fine. You're still the better detective.**

* * *

It makes her face almost split with a grin. Then the texts become less sporadic and more like the only constant in her life, that seems to be in the middle of turmoil. She begins to live for the moments when her screen lights up and the beep announces another text.

Then it's more phone calls, and Facetime, and now she lives for the moments when she's able to hear his familiar voice and see the beautiful eyes that haunt her dreams.

So much for not looking back.

She doesn't know what they are—they're stuck somewhere in the middle of everything—but she doesn't care. Having him in her life—in any form possible—is better than not having him at all.

"Hey," she murmurs, watching his sleepy eyes. His hair is tousled and he's definitely in bed—in their bed, or what used to be their bed.

"Hey," he replies. "I was worried I'd miss you tonight." The fact that he has to add the word tonight is proof of how often they've been doing this.

"I woke you up," she notices, instantly feeling guilty. She doesn't want to be the reason he doesn't get enough sleep. "You'll be cranky in the morning."

"I'm always cranky," he tries to joke, but she looks at him soberly. "If you want to talk cranky, you should talk to your dad."

"Again?"

"He's driving us all crazy. I mean I get him, he probably misses you." She loves the _probably_ in that sentence that allows Voight to be cranky for an entirely different reason than her leaving, even though they both know that's exactly the reason. And she loves the fact that he's stifling a yawn for her.

"He'll come around," she promises with a soft chuckle.

"And you didn't wake me up, cause I was just tossing and turning," he admits. She wonders at first, but she can tell it's not just his way of alleviating her guilt. He really does have trouble sleeping.

"Still going to the meetings?"

"Yeah. But some things they can't help with. And you? Good day at work?" She doesn't miss that he shakes her question, but she's glad he's still going. It's one of the things that still bothers her, not being able to be there for him properly. Because he wouldn't let her.

"Yeah, great." She almost sighs, giving herself away, but he reads her despite being seven hundred miles away. She hates that he can.

"I'm calling your bluff. You do know that you can talk to me about it right? I dump my work problems on you." She knows technically she can. But the guilt she's been feeling for leaving has been preventing her from rubbing the salt into his wounds, and she's been afraid to say anything about her new job, or her new life (those two not necessarily being two different things at the time).

"I know. It's just different that's all. Not big on team dynamics here." It's what she learnt the hard way the first week. "It's more every man to himself."

"Sorry to hear that. I know it must be hard if you don't feel they have your back."

It feels hard that he doesn't have it anymore, but she quickly shakes the thought. "It'll get better." She feels her hand reaching for the screen, as if wanting to touch him. She stops at the last minute, but he sees it anyway.

His sigh breaks her heart a little. "I know," he murmurs. "Me too."

The unspoken words threaten to choke her, and she says it long after the screen had gone black. They come out when she's standing on the balcony of her new flat. The moon looks big and understanding, and it makes her wonder if somewhere in Chicago he's looking at the same moon and thinking of her too.

 _I wish that you were here._

* * *

 **J: You forgot to take this. Want me to mail it?**

He attaches a picture of one of her favourite shirts to sleep in. It took time until they finally settled on Jay keeping the apartment. She promised they would work out an agreement that would work for both but didn't want to take any money from him yet.

He remembers her words exactly. ' _I don't care about the money.'_ The soft sentence never spoken but heavily implied, is that she only cares about him. He wouldn't know, if it weren't for years of getting to know the little nuances that make Erin Lindsay. At times, he thinks he knows her too well. That it's not good to know someone so well you can finish their sentences.

The first load of laundry he does comes with the surprise of a few pieces of her clothing she clearly forgot to take with her. The shirt is just the one he thinks she misses the most.

The answer comes soon, but it doesn't alleviate the pain like he expected.

 **E: Keep it. Something to remember me by.**

 **J: I don't need a piece of clothing for that.**

It's always like this. Some days, their texts are playful and funny, and the others they speak the words they haven't been able to say yet. They exchange so many words, but words without real meaning, and after all these conversations he still has no idea what prompted her to leave, and whether she regrets it.

He doesn't know what to do, but he misses her too much for rational decisions.

* * *

"You in bed already?"

"It's early, but yeah. I've got a day off tomorrow, so I thought I'd get an early start on it. It's been a rough couple of days at work. How about you?" Things are finally working in his favour. He imagines her lying in bed, dressed in one of her cute pjs, he goes with the lacy one in his fantasy. Her head is hitting the pillow, and her hand is pressing the phone against her available ear.

"Me? Oh, I did a really stupid thing."

"What did you do?" Her voice sounds worried but curious, and it reflects how he feels. The knot in his stomach doubles, and he thinks he's going to be sick soon enough.

"I'd rather tell you in person."

"Oh. Okay." She sounds disappointed now, like it's something that won't happen for years, and it makes him even more worried.

"Could you open your door?"

"What?"

He hears a loud thump, assumes it's her jumping of the bed, and then the door swings open and she's right there, all five feet and four inches of her, wearing one of his shirts that went mysteriously missing at some point. He should have known it was the shirt thief.

Then she's hugging him and it's like she's never left. He inhales the familiar scent of lavender mixed with blackberry that he knows belongs to her shower gel and lotion. Her hair is slightly damp, which means she went to bed without drying it, and it bugs him that he knows all of that, but he doesn't know about her new friends, or if she's seeing someone, because he's been too much of a coward to ask. Because he's been too much of a coward to imagine her moving on.

"You still smell the same," he mumbles against her, his face pressing against her hair. Her sigh is the only thing that gives away that she's heard him at all.

He doesn't know how long they stand there. It may be minutes, or hours for all he knows, before she tears herself apart, and he reluctantly lets go, and lets her usher him into the apartment.

There are tears in both of their eyes. He can see hers, and feel his own, burning hot, ready to spill.

She chuckles, breaking the ice. "God, I didn't know how much I needed a hug from you."

"I just needed to see you," he offers, and she shakes her head.

"You don't owe me any explanations. I'm so glad you're here." She seems genuinely happy to see him, and the light in her eyes gives him hope he doesn't think he should have. But he holds onto it with every bit of strength he has left.

"So that's where it went," he chuckles.

"I just needed a part of you with me," she admits and he nods.

"But a part of me is always with you." The part of his heart that she never gave back—the part he doesn't want back. Ever.

They tumble on the couch and talk their mouths off, spilling over secrets and news, and everything they haven't been able to pack into a text or a skype message. When she yawns for the third time, he takes her by the arm, murmuring softly that they should go to bed. He doesn't want the night to end, but he can see she's falling asleep, and doesn't want to be selfish and take away her rest.

And then she leads him to the bedroom, and they both expect it to be awkward, but it's the most natural thing. He asks if she minds, before sliding off his pants, and she shakes her head at him.

He comes to press a light kiss against her temple, as she sits on the edge of the bed, where the covers are messed up, indicating that's the half she sleeps in.

"You always have my back," she murmurs with appreciation. She doesn't need to tell him how much it means to her that he's there.

"That's what partners are for," he replies with a wink, and in the moment neither of them brings up the fact that they're no longer partners—that they no longer live in the same zip code. The reassurance is something they both crave.

He climbs into bed with her, and the way she presses against him feels so intimate, that her sleepy breaths lull him to sleep as well. And at some point, during the night, her hand slips underneath his shirt and settles on his hip, as if to try and keep them tethered to each other. As if trying to tell him what he already knows—that they're not meant to be apart.

* * *

"I was thinking we could go for breakfast?"

"I have a better idea," she says with a smile. "Trust me?"

"Always."

And he's glad he did, when an hour later they're sitting on a bench, facing a glorious sunrise from behind Lady Liberty.

"Best view in the city," she tells him, and when rays of sun catch in her hair, making it sparkle like diamonds, he's more than inclined to agree. "And best waffles."

"Look at you being all touristy."

"I needed to find some things to like about this city. It wasn't easy coming back here, when all the memories were tied to Nadia and Yates."

They fall into silence for a second, both knowing they should touch the subject while they're still together. They're both waiting on each other to say something real.

"You seeing someone?" He finally asks, because that's the one question he dares to, and suppresses the sigh of relief when she shakes her head.

"You?"

"Wouldn't be fair to the girl," he explains, "not when I'm still not over you."

"Maybe if we let time…" It seems desperate, a long shot even.

"Maybe."

"Jay?" His eyes focus on hers, and he knows it isn't easy for her, and he's sorry, because the last thing he wants is to make this harder on either of them. "I'm not over you either."

He pulls her against him, needing to feel her, like he used to feel her, before he woke up lonely every morning, knowing that the only thing that could fill that void is the sound of her laughter and the hot feeling of her breath on his cheek. "Good," he whispers, grateful for the little spark of hope she gave him—gave them.

"When is your flight?"

"At four."

"Then we still have a whole day. Let's not waste it."

And Jay knows that whatever they decide to do for the next couple of hours, it won't be wasted, because how could time spent with her ever be wasted, when he feels it's exactly where he's supposed to be.

* * *

"Dude, you totally got laid this weekend."

Jay shakes his head at another attempt by Ruzek to get information out of him. "I already told you. No."

"But you look so much happier. Come on, who is she? Is it someone we know? Is it Upton? Reese? Brett? I mean she doesn't look like your type, but hey, you never know, man."

"No, no, no and no."

"You're so secretive, what's the deal with that?"

"I was home all weekend, watching animal documentaries, if you must know." He doesn't know exactly what prompts him to lie, but this thing they have with Erin is still so fragile, so fresh, that he feels he needs to protect it until it grows stronger in time, like a little seed you plant and water until it finally grows into something.

"Pathetic."

"I hear you."

There is not much he can do about the fact that Adam's eyes flicker to his phone later that day, the minute it rings, or about Erin's name flashing in big bright words. Not much he can do about the instant feeling of happiness that rushes through him, as he takes the phone and exits the bullpen to take the call. And there is absolutely nothing he can do about Adam and Kevin asking him about it later. Asking about why he's still talking to Lindsay who left them all without as much as a word.

He can do nothing about his friends getting more and more suspicious.

* * *

"Hey," he says, opening the door.

"Hey. It feels weird to knock."

"You still have the key, don't you?"

"This is your place now. I wouldn't feel right using the key," she admits, and he nods with understanding. He motions her inside, and being in the same place where they've shared so many memories is like having a déjà vu times hundred.

Every piece of the place hold something. Like the picture on the wall of them being dorks together that he insisted on framing, and she kept hiding for the first two weeks until she finally relented and left it on. Or the dent on the fridge when they were messing around and she knocked into it with her head so hard, he felt it was necessary to take her to the ER. Or the couch, where they made love more times than she cares to count. The TV on the wall that they bickered about, but still ended up getting in the end, because Jay knows exactly how to convince her to do something she doesn't necessarily want to do.

"I had some stuff to do in town, and I thought I'd drop by. Get a free bed out of you." She says it playfully, but the tension between them is back. Not the bad sort of tension that they powered through in the past couple of weeks. The tension that was there for weeks before she came to his apartment that night, allowing him to tear off that expensive pant suit.

"You're welcome any time," he confirms with his boy-scout tone, and she is so tired of being so damn polite all the time. They've talked about some of the issues between them, but still not about the most important one.

So when they settle on the little terrace after dinner, with a glass of wine instead of their usual bottle of beer, she knows if there was ever a time to tell him, it's now.

"I made a deal with the feds. They had enough on Bunny, she was going away. Hank set it up, telling them they could offer me a job. Apparently, he was holding them back from that before. He knew I'd take the opportunity to save Bunny. Especially because I was waiting to hear back from the board, and I wasn't very optimistic about keeping my star. I hate myself for doing it every day. Because it feels like I chose her over you, and I—"

"You don't have to tell me," he cuts in, but she shakes her head.

"I have to. Hank told me not to look back. I knew if I came to say goodbye, I wouldn't—I wouldn't have been able to leave. You'd have found some way of convincing me to stay. You were the only one who could."

"I would have," he admits. "I wanted to."

"But your voice on the phone, breaking your heart like that. It still bothers me."

"You did hurt me." She flinches at his words, even though she knows blame laying isn't his intention. "But Erin, I hurt you too. I pushed you away long before this even started. Maybe if I were living at home when it all started, you wouldn't have felt so alone. Maybe you would've felt you had a better reason to stay. Hell, if I didn't leave, Voight never would have split us up as partners, and we both know I would never have let you go into the interrogation room with your gun. And then none of that would ever have happened."

"It wasn't your fault. I'm the only one responsible for my actions, and I'm telling you what I told them. I would do it all again, if it meant finding that boy in time."

"I know. It's pointless to think about what ifs. But I'm just saying in our relationship, you don't get to blame it all on yourself, because I left before you did. So maybe we can say we broke each other's hearts, leave it at that?"

She gives him a small nod.

"But as much as you broke my heart, you're here," he continues. "The only thing I wouldn't be able to live with, is losing you completely. But you're here. And I find myself thinking about all they ways we could make it work."

"How?" She asks with disbelief.

"Chicago isn't the only city with a police department, you know?"

"But it's your home. Your family is here, your friends."

"You left it all behind as well. You sacrificed your whole life to keep your mother out of jail. Maybe I don't understand it, but I support your decision. So, if you made that kind of sacrifice for the mother that was never really good at her only job, why is it so hard to believe that I'd make it for the woman I love? For the future we could have together."

Her lips part in awe of everything he just said and implied. After all the years of knowing each other, and having each other's backs, Jay still never ceases to amaze her. His unwavering support, and unconditional love strike her every time. Because she doesn't deserve it, or him. And yet here he is, telling her—not in past tense—that he loves her, and he's willing to leave it all behind for her.

And since he's let her do it, before he even had a real reason for it, how can she be a hypocrite and tell him what he can and can't do with his life.

"I'm an adult, Erin. I'm telling you I can decide what I can and can't live without. All I'm asking you, is to think about it." And finally, that's a promise she can make without hesitation, because she knows that whether she likes it or not, she will be thinking about it for weeks to come.

When he takes her to the O'Hare in the morning, so she can catch a flight that will take her away from him again, they hug for much longer than they should. They hug until the third call for the passengers to New York to board the plane, and when she walks towards the gate with her overnight bag, the knot in her throat is what makes her turn back—to drop her bag on the floor, and sprint back into his arms, where he's waiting for catch her.

Her legs wrap around his waist to hold her up, and his arms go around her to support her weight. Then her lips are on his, and it feels like the last piece of the puzzle falling back to its place. She knows this is where she belongs, and despite what anyone says, always would belong. She sees her future in his eyes when they finally part, because the third call is followed by last call for passengers to New York City.

The kiss still makes every inch of her tingle as she slumps into her seat and watches her beloved Chicago blur in the background. It's not the city she's leaving behind. It's something much more.

And as the plane takes her further away with every passing minute, she clings to the thing he whispered to her, right before she tore herself from his embrace.

 _I'll see you soon._

* * *

He knows something is wrong the second he steps into the bullpen. There is yelling coming from Voight's office, and everyone is listening to it. The tension in the air can be cut with a plastic knife.

"What's going—?"

His questions get shushed by Adam and Kevin, who point to the boss's office. It clicks when he recognizes both of the voice participating in the shouting match. Because one belongs to their boss, and the other to the woman haunting his dreams lately.

"AND YOU DIDN'T THINK THAT I SHOULD HAVE ALL THE FACTS WHEN MAKING A DECISION LIKE THAT?"

"YOU WEREN'T GETTING YOUR JOB BACK! I WAS JUST LOOKING OUT FOR YOU!"

"BY MAKING ME GIVE UP MY ENTIRE LIFE FOR THE MOTHER I THOUGHT WAS INNOCENT, BUT IS ACTUALLY A COLD-BLOODED MURDERER? BY MAKING ME LEAVE THE ONLY CHANCE AT HAPPINESS BEHIND? TELLING ME TO NEVER LOOK BACK?"

Their voices lower down for a while, so they can't hear what they're saying, but the blood in Jay's veins is already running cold.

"I don't get it, is that why she left?"

"She made a deal with the feds," Jay murmurs. Too much is already out, and he prefers the truth than the gossip of what might have happened. He trusts the guys not to spread anything further, if for no other reason, out of respect he knows they still have for Erin. "She'd take a job with them, and they wouldn't go after Bunny."

They look at him and he can see the exact moment it clicks for them.

"You've been sneaking this whole time? You were together all along? While we were trying to set you up with chicks?"

"We're not together," he explains, having to fight the urge to add one very important word. _Yet._ Because both of them know that even they were taking it slow, solidifying the bond of their friendship first, they were headed to the same place they were at months ago when she asked him to move in with her.

Sometimes he thinks that maybe there is such a thing as _meant to be._ That maybe it's what's constantly pulling them together. And other times he doesn't have the luxury to think that, because if he does, he'll stop fighting. And if there is one thing he will never stop fighting for, it's Erin and him.

She emerges from Voight's office, shooting lightning bolts at everyone who dares to look at her questioningly. But he knows her, he's see every side there is to her. And he's not afraid of the lioness he sees when he looks into her eyes.

Torn between playing it cool, like they both agreed, and not showing the unit that at least the friendship part of their relationship is back on track, and between the insane urge to be there for her in any way he can, he looks at her, hoping to find an answer.

"What? Enjoying the free show?" She snaps, at nobody really, but mostly at him, because he's looking at her with eyes wondering how he can help. She looks strong. Invincible. Scary. He's the only one who can see her breaking inside.

So he pulls her by the hand, until she crumbles in his arms, and she can bury her head into his chest until she's ready to face the world again. And if it's never, he's quite alright with that.

"Tell Voight I'm taking the day," he instructs to Olinsky, because Ruzek and Atwater are still playing hurt that he led them on, and because they'll most likely be too scared to tell the boss that one of his main detectives just took off. Especially when he's in this mood.

Al nods, motioning him to get her out of there, and he does. He leads her out, not to anywhere in particular, but away from the person that's currently causing her so much pain.

* * *

"Where do you want to go?" Is the first thing he asks, after they leave the precinct that used to be where both of them worked. It can't have been easy, he thinks, for her to march in there, seeing all the familiar faces, having to be buzzed up after doing it herself for so long.

"Away," she murmurs, and he chuckles for the first time. Away has a broad meaning, and he knows she's aware of that.

"Okay, come on. First, we're stopping for food. Cause away looks much more appealing with burgers."

That brings the dimples back onto her face. They stop at their favourite burger spot, and arm themselves with two big bags of food. "Now what?"

He decides a neutral ground (ground here being meant in a very metaphorical sense) is the best option. The wind is harsh in their faces, but the air does them both well as they sit on the deck of his friend's boat.

"Is there anything you can't do?" She asks with a small smile, while she watches him tying a perfect knot.

 _Make you stay._ "Nope. I'm a catch," he teases with a wink, because they don't need to have that conversation now.

"I've missed these burgers," she moans after taking the last bite. "Thank you."

"Oh, I'm putting it on your tab," he jokes, as if he would ever.

"Not for the burgers," she says. "For this. For being here." Her hand finds his and squeezes softly.

"That's why you have backup." And he hopes more than anything that what she gets from those words, is that he still has her back, no matter what. Their eyes meet and the memory of the kiss they share is still so fresh and brought to the surface by the longing in both of their eyes.

But he won't pressure her, and he won't take advantage of the vulnerable state she's in, so he settles for her head on his shoulder, as they listen to the wind whistle around their ears, and the waves of water crashing against the boat.

In the background, the city they both gave so many years to, is getting smaller and smaller. Chicago that's not just a city to either of them. It's home.

* * *

"Where are your things?" He asks, and she silently curses herself.

"I don't have any," she says, and pauses before explaining further. "I was so pissed at Hank I got on the first available flight. I didn't even go home." She recalls marching to the airport with nothing but her purse, demanding the first flight to Chicago, because she wanted to yell at Hank in person.

"That explains the pant suit," he teases, and she punches his shoulder lightly.

"I'll just borrow something from you."

"Yeah, I think I have something that will go perfectly with these pants." That earns him another punch, but she also flashes her dimples at him for trying to cheer her up.

"Are you hungry?" He asks, as they reach the apartment, and he sets down his keys. His shoes come off next, and she knows exactly that this is his routine every day.

"Still full from the burgers, thanks."

"Beer?"

"Yeah."

She beats him to the fridge, pulling out two bottles and passing him one. She trails to the window, catching his reflection coming up behind her. It's quiet, too quiet, she thinks. She wants to reach for the handle, to open the door and let in some of the noise.

He opens the door to the terrace, almost as if he could read her mind, and she follows him outside, breathing in the familiar scent of the city.

"You know, sometimes I'd look at the moon," she confesses, "and think of you. And wonder if you ever looked at it too, thinking of me." It even sounds ridiculous, so she laughs at herself, but it takes one look to sober her up. It takes one look for her to realize that the spark between them never left.

"I did."

She reaches out to touch him, her hand landing on his cheek. Then she pulls him in. Slowly. Wanting to prolong the moment. Their lips meet in a lazy kiss, because it would be too easy to rush it. To get lost in the haze of lust and passion. To let it overwhelm them.

But to feel every single thing—it's not easy. And she doesn't want easy with him.

She wants everything.

So, her hand rests on his chest, exactly where his heart is. Because she is done taking the easy way. She is done with running, and cowering. Done with wasting precious time.

There is plenty of time to think, for either of them to back out. But they stumble through the living room, towards the familiar shape of the bed. He pulls her blouse over her head, finally touching skin after so long. He drinks her in, as if he were stuck in the desert, and she is the first water in sight. Her pants pool at her feet next, and she kicks them off, along with her shoes.

She sighs under his touch. Because if there is one thing he hasn't forgotten is how to touch her body to wake it up. How to make every cell come alive under his fingertips, screaming for more.

Straddling him, she clutches his shirt, pulling it over his head. His hands feel so hot on her hips, she's sure they'll leave burn marks. Her fingers work fast on his buckle. The tremble of anticipation is there, her breath catching somewhere in her throat as she fumbles to remove her underwear and lowers herself on him.

Panting, she realizes she's almost forgotten feeling this whole, this fulfilled. Her moans get silenced by his kisses, as her hips start moving at a familiar pace. She can feel his control breaking, his own hips bucking up to meet hers, thrust for thrust.

His hands move to pull her closer, to move faster.

They've had sex before, and they've made love before, but this feels different. It feels as a total surrender. As if after all this time, they're finally _one._

Her hands grip his shoulders, as she braces herself, feeling the taut muscles underneath her fingers. The familiarity of it makes her realize that her body hasn't forgotten his. That they're still in sync.

His arms form a circle around her, so she can arch back against him. So she can let go. To move faster. To climb higher, until she explodes in his arms, crushing down against his hard chest, breathless and utterly spent, taking him with her to bliss.

Before she closes her eyes a single tear escapes down her cheek, a tell-tale of ultimate happiness.

* * *

"We still know how to do that," she comments and she feels him chuckle. After regaining consciousness, they discarded the rest of their clothes between soft kisses. It feels like once they've started, they can't stop touching, exploring the familiar features of each other's bodies.

When they're both exhausted, and she doesn't think she can bear another orgasm, she settles next to him, her head finding the usual place between his neck and chest. Their limbs entwined, exactly like they're supposed to be.

"I think it's safe to say. I'm surprised we didn't kill each other."

"I think we almost did."

"I also think it's safe to say," he continues, "that it's not good for us to be apart."

"Clearly," she murmurs into his neck before moving her head to the pillow, so she can look him in the eyes.

"Are you happy?" He asks, his blue eyes suddenly eying her with scrutiny. She nods to avoid what she knows is his real question. "I don't mean right now. Are you happy in New York?"

She doesn't answer, but she knows he can tell by the way she avoids his gaze, and the way her body tenses against his.

"Hey, it's okay." His fingers bring her chin up so she's forced to look at him. "Come home," he begs. "We'll figure it out. But don't waste your life for someone who's not willing to do the same for you." He means Bunny. And he's right. What prompts her to sacrifice everything over and over again for the mother she never was, for the mother Erin simply wished she had been?

She's glad that he doesn't push, when she kisses him instead of answering, perhaps taking that kiss as a silent promise she already made to him. That she would at least think about it.

* * *

The following two weeks when he doesn't see her are torture. She checks in right after arriving back to explain that they're going undercover, and she doesn't know when she would be able to call, if even.

So he's left with the memories of her skin, of her lips, of her eyes blurring while she moans his name. He's left with her smile, the two cutest dimples in her cheeks. Her scent.

He remembers how adorable she looked the day he drove her back to O'Hare, in her black pants and his white t-shirt. Her face was lit up by the happiness in her eyes, and he felt damn proud for putting that smile on her face.

So now he's left with missing her—every part of her, until the day he steps into the bullpen again, finding her there for the second time in a row. The guys are wrapped around her finger again, laughing at something she said before he walked in.

"Hey," she says, her voice hoarse, and his heart makes a loud thump in his chest. Then she reaches him and her lips press against his, ever so slightly. But it's a kiss, and it's enough of PDA that he knows she's likely told the guys about them. It's enough of a kiss that makes him realize she doesn't care if anyone knows that they're back together. At least he thinks they are.

Voight comes from behind her, exiting his office. His expression is serious, but then again, it rarely isn't.

"It's done," he tells her, and though the unit has no idea what's done, it feels final because of the way he says it. She turns away from him, almost dismissively, and it seems odd that she's still angry at Voight. Their fights never usually lasted this long.

"Good. I know you're in the middle of a case, so how about drinks tonight. On me?"

The guys rejoice, mostly because someone else is buying the booze, and Jay feels a familiar ping in his chest, knowing that she's likely staying the night.

"I have something to take care of," she tells him. "I'll see you later?"

She directs this at Jay, her eyes unsure. He nods, and watches her leave without another word. It's obvious that the relationship between the sergeant and the former detective is in a desperate need of mending, and he also knows that she'll forgive him eventually. But the sad look in Voight's eyes almost makes him feel bad for him. He's not used to seeing something affect him like this.

"She'll come around," he tells him quietly, earning a surprised look. He doesn't care if it's not his place, or if he's out of line even. These two people are both hurting, and they'd be hurting a lot less if they talked to each other.

"She won't let me explain." If Voight was surprised by Jay reaching out, Jay is now even more surprised by him taking that offer. "Tell her I'm sorry. That I was wrong."

"I will."

* * *

After a cryptic message, he finally ends up on the beach near the Navy Pier. It's not as crowded as he expected, and he can spot her immediately. She's sitting on the sand, her shoes next to her, her bare feet buried in the sand as well. He follows her gaze to the waves.

"Hey," he murmurs, sitting down next to her. Her face has a sort of serene expression on it, and she doesn't answer right away, so he allows her a second more.

"I was thinking we could talk," he starts, and her eyes drift from the water to him.

"About?"

"What happened the last time you were in Chicago?"

She nods. "Hold that thought for a minute." It's his turn to nod, as she readies herself to tell him something. "Bunny is going to jail," she blurts out, matter-of-factly, like it's something she has difficulty saying. Jay swallows, but lets her continue. "I wasn't going to do this, but then I had this very heavy feeling in my chest. You know the one? It presses on your chest and makes it hard to breathe, and it usually means you're making a wrong decision." He knows what she's talking about. "The last time I had that feeling was the night I left Chicago. So, I'm done. I'm done protecting her. I'll learn to live with the fact that my mother is a murderer, but I will not live knowing that she was out there doing more damage because I let her."

His hand slips into hers, offering some way overdue comfort. But it feels as if though she's made peace with it already. It feels odd that after all this time of trying to save Bunny, she's finally letting go. His attention snaps to a child screaming joyfully in the distance, and then right back to her. Her hand feels warm in his, its weight reminding him of what's on the line here.

"How did you even find out about it?"

"I overheard a video call between Hank and my boss. Apparently, FBI had quite a lot on her that I didn't even know about. But you know, small fish in a big pond. They had other priorities."

"I mean I know Bunny is not a good person," he decides to put it lightly, "but I had no idea she was capable of this."

"Daughter of a criminal and a murderer. I'm such a catch."

"Actually, I think of you more as a daughter of a cop." He pauses, glancing at her. "Erin, you and Voight need to work this out. I know what he did was wrong, but he was just looking out for you the best way he knew how."

"You're taking his side on this?"

"It's not about taking sides. I just see you're hurting. And I think you'd hurt less if you forgave him."

"I will. Eventually. I'm not going to let Bunny drive a wedge between us. She's taken enough away from me."

"Good." It's the only answer he can think of that's honest.

"I got another job offer today."

"Great. Wait. What?" He doesn't think he can say another word, because his throat feels tight and he's not even sure he's breathing anymore. Because he has a strong feeling she's about to tell him she's moving even further away, and he doesn't think he can handle it. Not after just getting her back.

She doesn't look at him, but instead stares at the waves rolling in, pulling her knees into her chest. He notices she's opted for a more casual attire today, with a white summer tee and a pair of jeans that end somewhere below her knees. She seems different.

"Here. In Chicago."

"What?"

"I took it. I mean I always loved the city. And the job is really good. It's really hard, but I feel it's what I'm supposed to do. And it's here." He can almost hear the words she's not saying. _Here. With you._

He's not clear whether he's following her correctly, but the shine in her eyes tells him he's not stuck in a perpetual dream, but that this is real. He lets out a breath he didn't know was holding. It was everything he hoped for, even though he never dared to hope too strongly.

"You want to—" He gets cut off.

"I want you. I want us. I want everything."

"No running? No leaving?" He's not sure whether it's a statement or a question, but he looks at her expectantly, because he needs to hear her say the words. He didn't realize how much he needs to know that they're in the same place.

"No running," she promises, and leans over to kiss him. "No leaving."

They seal the deal with another kiss and when they finally pull apart, their breathing is shallow and their foreheads press together in search of more closeness.

"Now I have to go apartment hunting again," she says with a groan, and he grins.

"I might know a place," he tells her, "it's got everything you need."

"You included?"

"Well, it's sort of a package deal. You can't get one, without the other."

She grins. "Could I get a tour of this mysterious perfect place?"

"Sure, we can go right now if you want."

She leans her head on his shoulder as they walk down the beach towards his car.

* * *

She slides into the passenger seat with ease, thinking how much things have changed in just a couple of months. Too many. There is one, however, that she's not willing to change.

"Here we have a kitchen," he teases when they arrive. "Well stocked, since the owner actually does grocery shopping unlike some people."

"Tempting. I hate grocery shopping. Is this oven big enough to cook lasagne?"

"Oh, for sure. Tried it out," he confirms, "just try to actually stay in the kitchen while cooking. The tenants don't like too many fire alarms." The memory of them sitting on the counter, eating half burnt lasagne, because they got otherwise occupied while cooking makes her chuckle. It's a good memory. They have a lot of those here.

"And the shower is big enough for two people?"

"As long as they stand really close to each other," he confirms, his voice getting lower by the second. "Did I mention how good the bed is?"

Erin takes a deep breath, because the memory of how good the bed is, is still fresh. Or how good he is in the bed. "I don't know. Maybe I'd like a test drive."

"I think that could be arranged." His grin is contagious, as he attacks her mouth with a lingering kiss.

"And when do you think the owner would let me move my things?"

"Tomorrow," he whispers. "He's going to be busy for the night. With the test drive."

* * *

"So when are you going to tell me about your new job?"

She's been staring at his chest for almost twenty minutes. The silence between them is comfortable, and he doesn't ask the question with intention to break it, but because his curiosity no longer allows it.

"FBI has a field office in Chicago that specializes in investigating child abductions. I spoke to agent Spencer, and she put in a good word for me. I think she realized that New York and I are not such a good fit."

The surprised expression on his face evaporates as soon as it appeared. This is it. This is what she was born to do. Pride swells somewhere in his chest, tugging on the little strings of his heart.

"Crimes against children? That is going to be tough," he says after a while, knowing that it would be, with her strong sense of empathy.

"But it's a chance to make real difference. And we both know there is no way Ivory Tower is letting me come back to work for CPD. And for some reason, FBI wants me enough to let me relocate."

"Hey! They want you, cause you're damn good at what you do. You work harder than anyone, and you have a connection to the victims. It's what drives you to solve cases. Those kids will be lucky to have you on their rescue team." And he intends to be there at the end of her long days to melt away the stress of the job.

"Thank you," she whispers. "I miss being partners with you."

"Me too," he replies immediately, but he's also aware that while he misses her as a partner, this—her gazing at him with loving eyes, her body pressed against his in search of warmth—is the part of her that he can't afford losing.

He can live without having her as his partner.

But he can't live without having her.

* * *

"I still think you should talk to Voight." His voice carries from the kitchen as she puts her stuff back into the drawers that used to be hers. It strikes her as odd that most of the drawers haven't been filled with his things yet. Almost as if he was waiting for her to come back.

Standing in front of a chestnut coloured wood, holding a tiny box in her hand she thinks maybe in a way he was.

Her eyes fill with tears as she opens it and lets out a sharp breath. It takes her a second, but she gets a grasp of the feelings arising in her chest, and it's not fear. It's happiness in its purest form.

"Babe?" She knows he must've come looking for her, because she was simply too stunned to answer his nagging about Hank, and now he's there, and she's still holding the box. The red velvet feels soft against her fingers. Almost as soft as his hand pressing hers.

"I forgot that was there." It seems he's at a loss of words, because he doesn't say more, and so they stand there, their hands pressed together, holding what could be their future.

"I never actually saw it." He told her about it during one of their visits when they talked through everything. She remembers it threw her off-balance that the last time she saw him before skipping town he had a ring in his pocket, ready to propose. She was scared when he told her, because she didn't know what her answer would have been.

"It's beautiful. Good thing you didn't keep it here when we lived together before, though. it would've sent me running." An honest chuckle escapes her, and she can't, for the love of God, remember what she was so afraid of.

"You're not ready," he says, and she can see he understands—that he's not going to pressure her. But everything seems so clear now.

"I wasn't ready."

"What does that mean?"

"It means I might—" She closes her eyes, inhaling softly, recomposing. "it means I'm ready now."

"You sure?" He asks, but his lips spread into a smile like she has never seen before.

"Are you?" His answer is to slip the ring onto her finger.

"I love you," she murmurs, the words having been the same she's said time and time again in the past. But it feels different. Like it means more.

Between the kisses, her knees hit the edge of the bed. He lifts her up, joining her right after, as if he can't bear to not touch her for too long.

Then they lose themselves in a blaze of hurried kisses and muffled whispers, drinking in the sunlight pouring through the windows—drinking in each other. After all the uncertainty they've faced in the past couple of months, they finally know exactly where they stand. The answer is together. Always. Forever.

Their fingers tug and stroke everywhere at once—gentle and soft mixing with urgent and needy. His lips lean down and she meets him halfway, her fingers lacing through his hair, pulling him closer, until finally, they're close enough.

It's not until much later, when they lie next to each other, sated and happy, that he echoes the words she said before.

Three little words she once heard lose meaning if you hear them too often. But as she looks into his eyes, she knows they'll never lose meaning for them.

* * *

"How was your breakfast with Hank?" He asks when she's done putting her jacket away.

"Good. We patched things up. He promised he'd always be honest from now on."

"Did you make him grovel?"

"Only a little," she replies with a wink, joining him on the couch.

"Erin, your shoes!"

She laughs, but takes the shoes off, before settling comfortably in his lap, throwing the book he had been reading to the coffee table.

"He also said I have a nice new ring."

"Is he upset I didn't ask his permission?"

"He was, but then I told him I basically had to propose to you, so you're good."

"Phew. Dodged a bullet."

"We're going over for dinner on Sunday."

He curses mentally, but smiles, because there isn't anything he wouldn't do for her, and if that means eating barbecue on Sunday with his boss/future father-in-law, then so be it.

"I love you," he tells her and watches her eyes widen. It took a long time for them to say those words, mostly because he was waiting for her to say it first. Because he respected her boundaries and wanted her to feel comfortable.

They were just words after all. He didn't start loving her when he first told her he did. He loved her long before that, and she did as well. But they're words that she didn't get to hear a whole lot while growing up.

So he makes sure to tell her. He tells her all the time: at random times, in the morning, in the shower, when she looks cute eating, when he's deep inside her, while she's sleeping, when she's angry, or upset, or happy. Because he loves all of her, even when she's not at her best.

He just wants her to know it. To remember it. And for him, no matter how many times he says it, it never gets any less true. At best, it gets truer every single time the words come out.

And he's damn sure, that he will spend the rest of their lives not only telling her every chance he gets, but also showing her just how much he means it.


End file.
